When you told me it was over
it had only just begun
the clock had ceased its ticking
and we still felt very young

Those everlasting children
in 1942
were taken from their villages
and nothing they could do

While concrete jungle architects
constructed city spaces
we thought we were invincible
in a middle Earth oasis

But history snatched our shoes away
and filled our hearts with fear
so soon our safety set upon
and dragged us out of there.

And now our broken spirits
seek an everlasting home
where innocence is not a crime
and we live (once more) as one.

Poor David

She knew him as a photograph
A poster on the wall
She had a suitcase full of him
But never knew it all

She didn’t go to stadia
To squeal with all the rest
Because she quietly supposed
He always loved her best.

The magazines presented him
With silky hair and smile
That promised her the moon and back
And stayed there for a while.

Poor David was a superstar
Who sang to her alone
But never came down from the wall
To call his very own.


I will scrub this pink
striped dress
with its pretty smile
in the dark bathroom
of abysmal atrocity

I will scrub this pink
striped dress
until fearful nightmares
are happy adventures
riding free in a fast car

I will scrub this pink
striped dress
to remove indelible stains
tattered sanity and
the smell of strangers

I will scrub this pink
striped dress
to repair its innocence
reinstate its torn trust
and drown the sound

of crying